Unfinished Business
by HeroineGauddess
Summary: Here are a bunch of shots/drabbles/headcanons that were either requested from fans or I started myself just because, and haven't been able to complete. If given enough persuasion, any of these may continue. Many ships inside, mostly for Victoria-lovers. Rating changes and trigger warnings are labeled.
1. Will Not Be Miserable For You

**Author's Notes:** This was a request from queenofthehamptons and two others for some Vemily based off of a few scenes from the episode entitled _Control_ (S03E05). I want to sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart for making a promise and letting them down. And I wanted to present something, I suppose to prove that I had started it with every intent on finishing, and perhaps someday I will.

* * *

She hadn't expected to see him and so soon after their...spat. If one could even call it that.

Days ago, they were engaged. She, to assume the Grayson name and everything that came with it. He, to finally be united by law with the woman of his dreams. Only it was just that—a dream, a fantasy, an illusion. Because the fact of the matter was, she couldn't stand to be around him. Yes, Emily had fallen in love with a Grayson. But Daniel wasn't it.

Now, her ring finger no longer bears the title. The instant his mind had come to that bitter realization, deja vu set in. Except before she could act, instead of initiating it herself, he'd been the one to slip it off her fourth finger and she who stormed out.

Then, he hadn't known about her and Victoria. He hadn't walked in on them in her kitchen, arms encircled about Victoria's waist from behind, pressing lips to his mother's neck, both eliciting high-pitched giggles. He hadn't displayed such revulsion and in no uncertain terms spoke of such prejudices as he did than in all the history Emily could recall of him.

Never mind Victoria, whose rapture had vanished the instant she opened her eyes and connected with the piercing glare of Daniel's through the glass door. She had nearly tripped over herself to catch him from fleeing, an overwhelming need to explain and somehow justify.

That was not the case anymore.

So as the blonde makes her way to the backyard where she's to meet her favored brunette by the pool, the wedding was officially off, for the second time, and honestly, Emily hasn't felt more relieved.

The masquerade she'd been playing with him began to feel more and more like a betrayal of sorts to the one whom her feelings for grew. She couldn't give him what he wanted, because those pieces of herself—her truest self—didn't belong to him. Emily had already shared them with another, where she hopes they reside for the foreseeable future.

However guilt, too, can't be helped. The blonde regrets the way things were left between her and Daniel, essentially leaving him to lick his wounds and bury himself in work. She cares for him, truly she does. But there's resentment now and too much hurt that each encounter is almost guaranteed to be strained.

The closer she approaches, the clearer his voice becomes, as well as the animosity in his tone. "I got a magazine to launch, so...are we done, or is there another reason you wanted me to come by?"

"Good morning," It was as good time as any to announce her presence. If it weren't for Victoria's smile, that smile with which has always been able to brighten even the dreariest of forecasts, Emily surely would've cringed under Daniel's peeved gaze as she continued to inch next to him with a wary gait.

He rolls his head to face her, barely pivoting in place, and seemingly sizes her up for ulterior intent. _Her 'sudden appearances' were never coincidental_, Daniel surmises, having spent the better half of their separation putting every questionable disappearance, every conversation on Emily's part into perspective, not to mention his mother's own motives for subterfuge and interference.

"Well, right," Victoria sighs. "Daniel, you've been staying at the South Fork, so you wouldn't know."


	2. Mind's Eye

Ones memory is a very complex, untrustworthy, and, at times, a very dangerous thing; used to hold onto things you love and what you never want to lose. But the trouble with memory is it can haunt you, make you remember things you never wish to relive again. It can fail you, betray you, triggered with as little as a scent or a song, and transport you back in time.

Though it varies between most, many have died trying to forget, while others cannot remember no matter how hard the effort. For me, reminiscing—good or bad—reminds me of who I was, who I am now, and who I want to be. And for some, that is all any of us can expect.

* * *

When I was a child, my father was framed for a crime he didn't commit. However, at the age of eight and the most terrified I have ever been, life has a way of masking the truth.

I laid under the silky sheets, tucked in one of the guest rooms of our neighbor's house. It was the largest I had ever seen and the one the dark-haired lady lived in; the woman I saw my dad kiss on the mouth.

I could hear her yelling with the man who had once introduced himself as her husband, Mr Grayson, also known as my dad's boss and, I suppose, wasn't anymore. Their voices were muffled until I snuck out of bed and pressed my ear against the wall, that their arguing formed words.

"What in your right mind possessed you to permit that man's child into our home?" he questioned first before rambling on. "You've but all legalized the adoption, as far as the press is concerned, and now we're stuck with her for God only knows how long."

"I couldn't just leave her there! I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt knowing...I feel responsible, Conrad. Do you know what happens to children in the foster system?" countered Mrs Grayson.

"I didn't bargain for this, but she sure as hell is your responsibility now, Victoria. And you had no right going behind my back." he barked. "You stupid, _**stupid**_ woman."

* * *

"I'm sorry." I uttered, lingering outside the opened door of the master suit.

Mr Grayson had left minutes before and didn't exactly leave pleasantly; slamming the front door of the manor behind him and speeding out of the long driveway with screeching wheels.

Mrs Grayson's attention snapped to me from where she sat at a vanity, her expression slowly mimicking my own. She motioned for me to enter and I reluctantly crept in, halting in front of her. She cupped my hands in her own and connected eyes with me.

"Don't you ever apologize, Amanda. You have nothing to be sorry for." she spoke softly yet sternly. "If you need anything, anything at all, I want you to know that I'm here for you. Alright? This is your home now."

"Well, what about—" I began, but she interjected.

"Let me deal with Conrad."

She then bent down, slipping from the stool, and knelt level with me, pulling me into her embrace.

"I won't let anymore hurt you." she whispered in my ear, and I laid my head on her shoulder.

* * *

Weeks passed and life as I would now come to know hadn't smoothed out as I had hoped. Once summer ended, I was forced to leave the Hamptons altogether and into the Grayson's more permanent home deep within the city of New York. I had my own room of course, but the furnishings that filled it were not my own. I was transferred into a private school where Daniel also attended and where we were forced to wear uniforms. For the most part, he befriended me. If not partial because he'd been told to do so.

All the days seemed to run together. I woke up, readied myself for school, met with the Grayson's for breakfast, then chauffeured off to where I would struggle to survive for the following eight hours, only to be picked up and brought back, then proceeded to hide upstairs until called for dinner before readying for bed, and start all over again.

My glum wasn't exactly kept secret. I only spoke when spoken too, and even then I didn't say much. I always did what I was told, trying my best to stay out of everyone's way, especially Conrad's. Daniel had friends and he often spent his time with them, so I normally watched from my window.

* * *

One night, after I had finished my homework, there was a knock at the door. No use in answering when everyone entered without it anyway. Victoria came and sat on the edge of the bed, my back turned with me facing the wall. I soon felt her nails comb curls behind my ear. I didn't mind it, it was almost comforting. That and I was somewhat fearful of her temper, having seen her lash upon Daniel now and again when he'd rejected her. So she'd do this from time to time. Often after she and Mr Grayson had just fought, and I assumed she needed some reassurance that who she was defending was still within reach.

"You missed dinner." I heard her say softly. Motherly.

I remained silent, staring directly ahead at the paint coated there.

"I know you're not happy here, Amanda, but I'm trying," she continued after an almost inaudible sigh. "And you do know that you don't have to stay here with us...if you don't want to."

I reluctantly nodded, recalling a conversation with a social worker who had me called to the main office during art class.

"But I hope...that you do decide to stay," Her voice wavered and I could detect a bit of sorrow in her words. "I've enjoyed your company in the little time you've been with us."

"I want to go home." I blurted.

Her fingers stilled in my hair and I knew that she was surprised by my remark.

"I know you miss your father, Amanda...I..." Expecting her to say more, I shifted to pear up at her from over my shoulder. But her focus had drifted to a picture of him I had tacked on my bulletin board. Her eyes were glassy in the dim light of the room and I immediately sat up. This was an emotion I began to believe wasn't within her ability to express.

Clearing her throat and blinking rapidly, Victoria stole a moment to compose herself before she spoke again. "If you had come down for dinner, you would've been informed of the news."

Her voice had hardened in that tone she usually took when guests visited and she turned toward me again.

"I'm sorry, Mrs—Victoria," I whispered, that practiced mantra I recited when I did something wrong. "I'll never do it again."

Her face softened, "Please don't talk to me like you do Conrad, I'm not him. I merely wanted to inform you that we'll be expecting a new addition soon."

"Oh." I muttered, glancing down at my hands.

"No dear," she tapped under my chin, asking for my attention. "I'm going to have a baby, meaning you and Daniel will be getting a little sibling."

A prickling sensation started to play at the backs of my eyes and I averted my gaze.

"No," I corrected her. "Daniel will get one. Not me."

"Amanda," she called sternly. "You _are_ a part of this family. I will not hear of anything different."

"Yes. Ma'am."

She huffed in frustration, "I'm sorry, I...it wasn't my intention to make you upset, I just..." She then pulled me into her arms and beyond my control I burrowed my head in her neck and cried.

There was a break of silence as she rubbed my back and we swayed until I had calmed down a bit.

I felt her press her cheek close to my ear and she whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"

I nodded and sniffled back the urge to whimper.

"This baby is just as much your sibling as it will be Daniel's. You want to know why?"

I tightened my hold around her waist, noticing where a slight bulge pressed tightly through her dress, her dark hair feathering the top of my hands at her lower back, and I closed my eyes allowing the aroma of her perfume to soothe me.

"Why?" I responded in a muffle.

"Because Daniel and the baby will share a mother...but you and the baby, will share a father. Do you understand?"

I lifted my head just far enough to give her a questioning look. "You mean, my daddy is the new baby's daddy too?"

Her hands found my face and she wiped my tears away, giving me a little nod and a smile that reached her eyes. I grinned in return. Then my hands found her belly and lightly pressed there.

"So I really am going to be a big sister!" I said excitedly. "Does my daddy know?"

Her face instantly panicked. "No-no Amanda! This is to be just our little secret, you understand. You have to promise me you won't tell. Can you do that for me?"

I didn't understand, but I felt as though I could trust Victoria. I felt safe with her and now that I knew she was going to have a baby—my little sister or brother who would be just like me and have the same daddy as me, I didn't want to let her down. I wanted to be good for her, I wanted her to want me around.

"Yes ma'am, I promise!" I smiled big and bright.

Her smile returned and her fingers began to brush my hair again. "So you see...I hope you stay because I'm going to need your help, when the baby comes."

I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation of having Victoria near, protective and caring. "I want to stay now. Can I?"

"Of course, darling," she kissed my forehead. "Now to bed with you," she winked. "And no more hibernating."


	3. Vaiden

**Author's Notes:** Requested from xoitscass for some more Vaiden smut, but something a bit rougher. It started that way, then my muse took it someplace else entirely. I apologize for not getting this to you sooner and for not quite meeting your expectations, if they weren't ):

I know many have jumped this ship, so to speak, having watched the finale. But for those of you who haven't yet or, like me, are still able to enjoy them together, here you go (:

* * *

The next time it happened a month had passed since they'd even seen each other, at a local cafe.

He caught sight of her walking in from where he was seated at the counter. Minutes later, he found himself in the back alley of the building, the late afternoon shading them into as much privacy as one could expect from the outdoors.

This time, however, was much rougher.

He was banging the life out of her—thrusting as hard and as deep as he could, yet it still didn't seem to be enough. He leaned against her, pressing her body smug between him and the brick wall of the coffee shop. She arched her back, tilting her hips behind her and creating a friction that squeezed them both to their respective peaks.

He didn't know what it was. But ever since that first night, he couldn't get her out of his mind. Her taste, her touch, her sounds. Every encounter became hurried and more intricate, always ending with them screwing one way or another. No matter how innocent it began.

* * *

The next time was planned. They met at the South Fork Inn the following week. Needless to say, neither of them did much dinning.

He took her on the couch once they entered their luxury suite, careful to bolt the door shut and flip the 'Do Not Disturb' sign.

Something had clicked inside Victoria that let out a wild cat of sexual tension that needed to be tamed and quieted. Repeatedly.

Perhaps it was because they only had such little time to burn before anyone expected them or perhaps it was the animalistic behavior burning at their loins that needed to be sated should they go completely up in flames, neither were sure.

So instead of one round, there were three.

They began with her straddling him as he sat upright on the sofa before falling on top of her, then finally ending with her on all fours on the floor from behind.

* * *

Most recently, he'd stormed out of Emily's upon the denial to admit his whereabouts earlier that afternoon. He had been with Victoria, but he wasn't about to disclose that with her.

He found himself standing in the foyer of Grayson Manor, drenched and chilled to the bone from the sudden storm, having pleaded with a maid to enter, requesting for the older woman, and for nothing more than solace. Their relationship was a full-fledged affair, reason being neither he nor Victoria had the strength to resist one another. The interesting thing though was, neither of them bothered to try.

She snuck him into her bedroom, knowing Conrad had retired to his quarters hours prior and that Charlotte was taken care of, then proceeded to strip him of his wet clothes and warm him up in the only way she knew how.

The rest of the night commenced in what they enjoyed best as quietly as possible.

Their carelessness would only came to a screeching halt a few weeks later.

* * *

"Hey," he greeted, his hot breath hitting the back of her neck in a near whisper, ruffling her hair before tilting his head to the side and kissing the soft skin there.

She jumped slightly upon the contact, having been in deep concentration, and twirled around to face him, dropping her glasses and the papers she'd been reading on the desk. Eyes wide, she stopped him from advancing further as well as silencing him by placing a finger on his lips. He ceased obediently and watched as she scurried to the sliding doors of the private office, glancing out before ducking in again.

Understanding now, he took a few steps forward and slipped off his jacket, slinging it over the back of a nearby chair. His forehead creased when his eyes fell to her legs. They weren't usually hidden behind slacks. He preferred the second-skin dresses and skirts she pranced around in. Easier access for these sneaking times, when the pressure was cut for undressing.

The text he'd received half an hour earlier which prompted his arrival was thought to be another one of their 'meetings'. But with her presence lingering near the door, he realized something was off.

"Everything alright?"

Her arms tensed at her sides and she glanced down at the glossy floor, inching towards him with a few taps of her heels. Her expression was difficult to read that only deepened his concern. He dipped his head to catch her gaze, blue connecting with brown.

"Victoria, what's wrong?"

"Something's happened."

This perked his ears and his mind suddenly began to race with possibilities of what it could be, the worst scenarios lining first.

"What, is it Charlotte? Is it Conrad? Does he know...? Or is it—is it you? Are _you_ alright?" he questioned, earning him a caressing hand on the cheek once she was near.

"No-no, Charlotte's perfectly fine. And rest assured, Conrad knows nothing." shaking her head, "At least, not yet." she finished under her breath.

He lifted her hand from his face and cupped it in his own, continuing to examine the brunette with deep inquiry. Her features were contorted into a deep frown, not quite close to tears but worrisome nonetheless, with a mix of anxiety and...joy?

"Well, what is it? Is it good, bad?"

Her shoulders hiked a bit. "I...actually, I'm not exactly sure. Neither. Both."

"I don't know what that means, Victoria. _What_ is going on?"

Her eyes slowly became glossy as she tried to predict his reaction, gazing up at him a few moments more, hesitance clearly preventing her from an explanation. Though he waited as patiently as he could muster, feeling his nerves building inside him and the silence that had fallen over them, deafening.

She finally tore her focus away, slipping her hand from his grasp and began to undo the few buttons of the sweater she was currently sporting. He folded his arms in confused anticipation, intently watching as she pushed the corners back, grabbing for his hands and positioning them under hers on her abdomen.

He instantly detected a curve, about the size of a peach or an apple, pushing itself forwards under alabaster skin and the material of her silk blouse tucked in the waste of her pants.

His eyes then flew to hers, noting that in all the times he had become familiar with her body, that this was new, and she offered an uneasy smile. When he didn't comment, she decided to clarify it for him.

"I'm...pregnant."

His mind, that only before raced in speeds ahead of him, now slowed to a crawl, taken completely aback. Yet he felt a tug playing upwards at the corners of his lips. His legs gave way underneath so he could be eye level with the subtly bump of Victoria's midsection. It was small enough that it could be concealed with the attire she had on. But even so, it was distinctive enough to know of the life that was growing there. He splayed his fingers, so it was as if he were cradling the being in the palm of his hand.

Victoria remained silent, distrusting her voice to say anything further, even if she wanted to. The quiet was calming, unnerving.

He slowly raised himself back to his original height and pulled the dark-haired woman into his embrace, slowly rocking them back and forth, and she melted immediately. This had obviously been nagging her, literally from the inside out, prior to her message for him to come over. But there was still a few questions more he wanted answered.

"I'm scared..." she whispered, words he couldn't imagine ever falling from her lips. In the crook of his neck, her voice cracked and her hands wound behind him, burring herself impossibly closer.

He bent his head to smell the shampoo of her curly locks, the familiar scent he'd come to recognize during that which resulted in the predicament they found themselves in now.

"How far along?" he finally spoke.

He felt her posture go rigid against him, even her tone hardened. "Far enough."

He hated himself for cringing, but they needed time. He wanted a couple days to think it over, to contemplate on their next action. Never mind asking permission to be included in the decision, he needed to be there for her now more than ever. And it surprised him, that the urge to run was further from his mind.

"I just got off the phone with my doctor. If I hadn't gone in for my yearly physical, I might have never known until it was too late." Her head then lifted to face his, revealing those eyes that always told more than she cared to admit. "And I will understand completely if this is too much, more than you bargained for—"

"No-no-no," he assured, bringing his hands to hold her face, bracing them both. "I...I want to be there...I'm scared too, but...I want it."

It was when she shot away from him, wrapping her arms closely around herself, glaring at him in disarray as if he'd said something wrong. She let out a deep breath, one he hadn't realized she had been holding, and only then did he realize—no, he hadn't said anything wrong. He'd apparently said something very right. Something she prohibited herself to expect, to hope for. Something he was slowly noticing now, by the expression on her face, she wanted.

"What—are you sure?"

He glanced around the room for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat. "You should leave Conrad. Divorce him." he confessed, on a whim, but meant nothing more honestly. "We're having this baby."

Her face suddenly beamed, the warmest and brightest smile he had seen grace her features. Ever, in the short time that he'd known her. She really wanted this, probably more than he could know at that moment, and he stuck a pin to remind himself to find out.

They embraced again, wrapping her up in his arms. Holding her. Knowing that now there was a being, a child—his child—growing inside her, he detected the tiny baby-bump rub against his stomach, and he resisted from holding her too tightly, as if he would harm the fetus somehow.

He bent down and lifted her up. With a yelp and a moment later, she was in the air with her arms around his neck and carried to the couch in the far corner. He laid her down and began to unbutton her slacks. Her head shot up in retort, but it was too late. His hands were too fast for her objections and, when she normally wouldn't dismiss it so fast, he managed to pull out her button up shirt as well to reveal her slightly barely-there belly.

She felt a blush spread across her cheeks, yet could understand his fascination. She laid her head back, turning it to gaze down at him.

He lent his head down to level with her midsection, then brought his ear to it; as if he'd really hear something going on in there that had anything to do with the baby. And to no avail but the rumblings of her muscles inside. He couldn't bring himself to pull away.

Her hands laid against the other side of his head, holding it in place against her while she smiled.

It struck something in him that he felt if he let go, or allowed the woman he cared very much for who was carrying his child leave his sight, he might lose it. Together, among the lust, secrecy and lies, there must have been love, for they created a life. And that was so very precious and fragile. He wanted to dwell in that moment forever.


	4. Me Too

**Author's Notes: **This was written immediately after Destiny premiered (S02E01) when I thought Daniel and Ashley were going to be a thing, set in a future AU. Not exactly my best work :/

* * *

She felt the car slow to a crawl before it swayed to the right and continued down a gravel driveway; the vehicle's suspension willy-wobbling through the forest terrain, rubber tires crackling and gritting against rocks, rolling over potholes and tiny molehills. The shadows of branches danced across the backseat through her window where she laid, sneaking a peek through squinted eyes still hazy with sleep. From where her head rested by the back passenger side door, she could indistinctly make out her father sitting upright behind the wheel, unbuckled and bent over, his eyes narrowed at the windshield as if he weren't familiar with his surroundings.

Perhaps they were lost.

She didn't know how long she'd been out or when she'd drifted off, but she knew based on the full moon hanging high in the sky that it was probably the wee hours of the morning. Then all motion ceased as the emergency brake was pulled and the motor cut upon the turning of the ignition.

Perhaps not. Maybe they were here...where ever that was, exactly.

Her father had wanted it to be a 'surprise', showing up at her school earlier that afternoon, checking her out without any further explanation, other than they were going on a road trip. She didn't ask, she merely accepted that it were just another one of their adventures. Except, none of which in the past interrupted with school and certainly wasn't spur of the moment. She had a feeling that her mom didn't know anything about it. She supposed it was because of her parents quarrel the night before. But she loved her dad. He had promised he would never put her in harms way, and she trusted him. She felt safe with him. He was her dad, and at the age of ten, why would she question that?

She quickly shut her eyes again when he began shifting in his seat to gaze back at her. The leather seats squealed in protest at him bending back and tucking a strand of hair behind an ear before pulling the lever in the driver door. A soft ding cycled while it remained spread open, the outside cold invading what little heat was contained in the cab and tickled the bare skin of her legs, uncovered by her school uniform before suddenly slamming shut, causing the car to rock , and the sound of footsteps faded in the distance.

She leaned up on her elbows, until her eyes could see past the dashboard, watching her father's silhouette travel in the darkness.

Then lights flickered on through a set of windows of a house just a couple yards away. The panes of the glass shown down onto a porch that wrapped completely around the rather large structure. Residing in New York, she'd seen her fair share of big houses and buildings. The bright lights from inside this home gave her an outline of not just the abode but of the property itself. They were in the middle of the woods, a small clearing for which the two story house sat, angular and audacious.

The front door opened to reveal a slender woman with long dark hair, slightly shorter than her father, and pushed open the screen door for him. As the light slowly trailed over him, his shoulders were more slumped than usual, his head bent down like a tail on a scalded dog. She watched as the woman took a step back, allowing him to enter and let the screen retract shut behind them before she pulled him into an embrace. Her father melted into this stranger's arms without hesitance, wrapping his limbs around her and holding her close. When they finally parted, she caressed his face a moment as words were shared, then her father backed away and retraced his steps to the car.

The girl immediately ducked down across the backseat and pretended to be sleeping in time for the door at her legs to swing open, the crisp air creeping up her body like a fog.

"Baby...?" he whispered in hopes of arousing her while rubbing her calves fatherly. "We're here."

She wasn't sure why she didn't want him aware that she were awake. She didn't have a reason or a motive, she simply felt the need to prolong the act of dreaming; a performance she normally did when circumstances were unknown.

Convinced she was dead to the world, he gently gathered her up in his arms and maneuvered around so he could shut the door with a hip before heading back towards house. She kept her lids closed, her teeth shattering inside her mouth snuggled against her father's chest. His boots stomped on wooden steps and they creaked under his weight. She felt the illumination of a lamp on her face as the temperature changed, a door locking with a bolt of a latch.

Her father then stopped abruptly, swaying a bit, her hair blowing wispily.

"Put her in here."

It was a woman's voice, supposedly the woman she saw before. It was deeper and elegant sounding, suggesting her age much older than the girl could guess.

Sooner than she expected, she was carefully lowered down onto a mattress made up of a foamy cloud-like material that formed to her body and relaxed her muscles to a pleasuring ache. A pair of hands slipped her shoes from her feet as another draped blankets and tucked them at her sides. A fragrance of perfume filled her nostrils when the bed dipped. Soft strokes of, what she could only guess was, hair brushed across her skin, like soft bristles of a paintbrush, as the person above finished settling her more comfortably. Only when the antics ceased did the voice from before speak again.

"My god, Daniel...she looks just like you."

Her father hummed. "Her name's Claire."

There was a subtle intake of breath, the only reason the girl had even heard it based on the vicinity of this woman being so close.

"I take it you were the one who named her, but why? I can't imagine Ashley approving of such a thing."

Daniel let out a deep sigh.

"Yeah well...lets talk in the other room." he suggested and the weight was lifted from the mattress. Shuffling of feet played on carpet followed by a click sounding a moment later.

Claire opened her eyes and found herself alone. The room was much larger than she anticipated, with fancy antique fixtures and paintings on the walls. It reminded her of the Montage Hotel they had stayed once on a family vacation. However, her mind began to fuzz as exhaustion set in again and after a while, her pretending slipped into reality.

* * *

The following day arrived in a blink. The sun beamed down through heavy curtains that were pushed and strapped to the side, sweeping the floor. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, forcing herself awake.

It wasn't a dream. She was still here. In the big old house with a strange woman.

She then noticed the sheets were disturbed on the opposite side of the bed, and she instantly knew that her father had come during the night and slept beside her. Though no matter how much sleep he managed to catch, he had still been the first to wake.

Muffled voices and a burst of laughter caught her attention. He father was laughing. That was a sound she hadn't heard in a long time. It made her smile and a prickling sensation played behind her eyes. It was pleasant and exciting, urging her out of the room. She crept herself down a hallway. The further she tread, the louder the voices became.

"What on earth possessed you to do a thing like that?" Claire overheard the woman ask in a weak suppressed laugh.

Her father chuckled. "She dared me, I couldn't just refuse."

Rounding the corner a bit too fast, Claire froze mid stride once she saw the two lounging on couches directly in front. The long dark-haired woman spotted her in an instant, brows rising with acknowledgment.

"Seems we have a visitor." She glanced back at Daniel before her focus returned on Claire.

Shifting slightly in his seat to face his daughter, Daniel offered her a warm smile, appearing well rested and relaxed, which in turn soothed Claire's anxiety. A little.

He motioned for her to approach and she obediently did so, halting near his legs. She was now a good foot from the woman who was without a doubt older than her father. Her hair curled past her shoulders, the ever-so-light touch of crinkles at the corners of her eyes which were of a deeper brown than his. Her lips stretched along her jawline, sincerely, and it was infectious as her father couldn't help but mimic it. Though Claire could tell that the woman sensed her wariness, she seemed very pleased to see her.

"Claire sweetheart, there's someone I want you to meet." spoke her father softly, placing his hands on her shoulders and swiveled her towards the older woman.

Claire nodded, eying her skeptically.

"Her name is Victoria," he smiled, glancing between the two females. "But you'll know her as grandma."

The dark-haired woman shot Daniel a playful look of disappointment. "Don't teach her to call me that."

He then connected eyes with his daughter. "This is **my mom**," he clarified.

Claire searched for any kind of deception in her father, to find none. Her gaze then flew back to Victoria and blinked.

"Daniel's told me so much about you." she stated keeping her distance but very much wanting to touch the girl. "I'm so happy you're here."

"Is she aunt Charlotte's mom too?" Claire asked over her shoulder.

Victoria flashed a confused look of inquiry at her son over the girl's head.

"Yes..." he answered, but with a bit concern then confirmation. "Why wouldn't she be?"

Claire faced her father. "Aunt Charlotte says that you're only half brother and sister." Claire explained. "That means you share **one** parent and both of you call Papa Conrad, dad, so..."

Victoria snorted, earning her their attention. "Papa Conrad?"

"Yeah," said the girl. "What's wrong with that?"

The older woman's brows rose again, this time with astonishment, then she shook her head. "I'm beginning to see the Davenport resemblance."

Claire's eyes narrowed. "What's that mean?"

"Claire," Daniel warned. "And mom, please."

Victoria shared a knowing look with her son but kept quiet.

"So...Aunt Charlotte lied?"

"No sweetheart, Charlotte's right. Technically, well...we're getting off the subject," he waved his hands dismissively, then gestured at Victoria. "We're going to visit for a while."

"So..." Claire twisted around once again to eye the brunette head on, the wheels turning in her mind. "Does this mean that your plane didn't really blow up?"

She spotted her father's expression sadden just as Victoria cleared her throat uncomfortably and she might not have understood what was neglected to be said, but she knew it was something painful that both adults didn't want to dwell on. She then took that extra step forwards and hugged the older woman, her arms wrapping around her neck. She felt Victoria tense at first, taken aback at the gesture but soon melted into it.

"I'm glad you're not dead." was all Claire offered.

Victoria looked up at Daniel in surprise.

"Me too." she whispered in the girl's ear. "Me too."


	5. Ships Passing In The Night

She gazes upon its structure, how its only purpose in life is to merely keep its passengers afloat. She can see the romanticism, how they were the key in great historical explorations and voyages, having served for cultural and humanitarian needs as well as combat, and continue to be used today, in one form or another. Though despite its complexities and simplicities, they haven't much strayed from its original design, and it amuses her that after centuries of utility, they're basically the same.

The chilling autumn night's breeze gently nudges its buoyancy and it rocks and sways in response, water sloshing against the dock where marine growth prosper.

To others it brings joy of afternoons out under the sun, surrounded by nothing but the deep blue Atlantic. Yet to her, it unearths memories that she had buried long ago; emotions and confessions that haunt her in what feels like every waking moment of every single day since...

She remembers, vaguely, leaning against the railing of the bow. And if she closes her eyes, she can almost feel herself careen along with the waves and his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his face pressed next to her cheek. She can smell the salty sea air as it combs through their hair and rustles their clothes. But then, inevitably, she's reminded of what she had done to him.

And his daughter.

A prickling sensation plays at the backs of her eyes and when she returns her focus on the vessel which bares the child's name, she blinks the urge away, extracting them inside behind a bolt of a latch, kept tightly concealed in her deep thoughts and behind the mask that is the great and seemingly unsinkable Victoria Grayson.

The past would tell you, however, that, like Titanic, she too will eventually meet the ice burg of her demise, either from the disregard to learn from foregone indiscretions, her own self-destruction, or by fate, as history tends to repeat itself, and it makes her wonder...if she's doomed to fall, what is there left to live for? Why proceed with the charade of innocence when karma is bound to reveal itself irregardless?

_Mrs Grayson?_

In spite of everything, redemption appears further from her reach than ever before. It isn't as if it hasn't crossed her mind. She really isn't a cruel woman, although many would disagree. But even in doing so, it wouldn't change the fact that David Clarke is dead. No matter if his name were wiped clean, the damage had already been done. He died the most hated man in America, stripped of everything possible.

Once you've made a deal with the Devil, forgiveness is inconceivable.

_Victoria!_

The added pressure of her own regret and guilt atop of all the secrets and lies weigh heavy, for she can feel her herself sinking and splitting in two.

It's then that her legs give way and she plunges with a loud smack, the frigid aqua rushing over her in one fluid motion and, within seconds, swallowing her whole. The cold pierces her body like knives and her lungs constrict. The dark depths pull her under, deeper, until she's nothing at all.

Bubbles float to the surface.

Anesthesia begins to trickle up her spine.

She doesn't fight it.

She doesn't think.

Soon thereafter, the pain subsides and she slips into unconsciousness.


	6. Four Letter Word

**Author's Notes:** This is based off of the episode Engagement (S02E20) when I began to ship Victoria and Jack pretty hard. Ironically, this would be the only fic I've read on them. And I wrote it!

I know there are quite a few of you who had agreed with me on Tumblr about the ship, though I don't think a name was ever created (if anyone knows, please let me in on it), and I thought perhaps this would scratch the itch...or start a breakout c(;

* * *

He enjoys locking up.

When his father was alive, he used to not feel that way. Wiping down tabletops, scrubbing dishes, sweeping the floor had been cumbersome.

Chores—that's all it was.

Since then however, its become...therapeutic.

Usually Jack has the jukebox softly playing some Nirvana, or Candlebox, as he cleans and works off the excess frustration. Other times he helps himself to a drink and contemplates his troubles. Mellowing himself out before he retreats upstairs and settles in for the evening, before it starts all over again the following day.

But never did he need a release more than tonight. Instead of music though, he opts for the flat screen above the bar and flips to the nightly news.

"We just received a startling tape that is sure to have a major impact on the New York governor tutorial campaign." claims channel 10, a reporter's voice filtering through the rear speakers of just one of the many television sets strategically placed about the tavern.

This perks Jack's ears and he tears his attention away from the neatly stacked napkins and its dispenser on the counter.

"Mark has a degenerative heart condition," states Alison Stoddard whose picture graces the majority of the tube's display and the bartender scoffs, turning back to the task in his hands.

Jack may be the typical blue collar guy and politics more often than not surpass him, but he isn't an invalid. He knows this will most definitely change the outcome of the crusade and not for the better. He understands that Conrad Grayson has basically just won before the ballots have yet to be tallied.

It won't stop Jack from trying to sabotage it in any way that he can, nor does this make things any less stressful. He will simply have to adapt, adjust tactics and get a little more creative. Worm his way into the hearts of not only the upcoming governor himself, but all of Grayson's minions as well—the middle men behind the true brains responsible for what is to come.

It doesn't mean he's going to take anything for face value either. Jack barely believes the words hes already been forced to listen to, and he certainly doesn't have to watch all that propaganda bullshit. But he will continue to do so because he also knows he'd rather be aware of what's going on than stick his head back in the sand.

After all thats happened in the past year, his eyes are no longer shaded by the blinders of obscurity.

"His private doctor says he won't survive another term as governor, maybe not even survive the year..."

"My husband is peerless when it comes to skullduggery," booms a voice that completely drowns out one socialite and startles Jack into twisting his neck violently towards another, one who drops her purse on the bar with a loud thump.

Victoria slips onto a stool at the farthest end and gestures at the television. "Confront him with the photos and he spins it into this." It's said as if she isn't surprised, but displeased nonetheless.

He averts his gaze a moment to collect himself from her sudden and unannounced entrance. Jack instantly regrets leaving the door unlocked and silently notes to himself to do so when she leaves. Grabbing for the remote, he presses the power button, directing the controller overhead at the flat screen and it fades to black, quieting the room to an expectant silence.

His discomfort doesn't go unnoticed.

"Oh a brandy would be lovely." she says and it isn't missed on her that though he may have expected her to speak, what shes just requested isn't that.

He obliges with an uneasy smile and curt nod, remembering that drink of his own and turns to face the top shelf, reaching up and pulling down two snifters from the glass rack, then proceeds to fill each one with the whiskey.

"Lets put our cards on the table, Jack," she begins in a serious tone which lacks its usual bravado and more so as she struggles to carry on. "I know you don't like me, and you hold me responsible for...things that happened to your late wife."

He pauses long enough to cast her an expression that she understands perfectly.

"But I also know that you wanted to destroy my husband's campaign, as do I." Victoria smiles tensely. "And that was your aim when you brought me that photo, right?"

There's no need for Jack to answer, nothing to admit or deny, because she may be many things. But not once has he ever doubted her intelligence. Her morals and her loyalty, yes, but never her intellect. It's in the way that she talks.

He offers her her glass and she takes it when their fingers graze. Just for a moment does it send a jolting sensation up his arm and flush his neck as she manages to verbalize her gratitude before immediately swallowing a generous sip and he does the same. He supposes for entirely different reasons.

Even over the rim of his glass, Jack seemingly watches the brandy make its way down her throat until they both return their individual snifters to the counter and she locks her gaze upon them.

"I've been married to that scoundrel for twenty-six years and I have a numerable reasons for wanting to see him fail." Victoria slowly lifts her line of sight to meet the light blue orbs that stare back at her, conveying true wonder. "But what I don't know is why you do."

A break of hostile muteness floats between them and causes the bartender to narrow his eyes.

"He ordered my wife's murder." Jack deadpans.

The older woman arches a brow. "That's a serious accusation."

Jack detects a hint of something ferly laced within her voice, sounding as if this isn't the first time such an incrimination has been made, and induces a domino effect of questions. If so, one becomes far more imperative than the rest, why does she continue to stay with him?

But what floors him is the look of zeal in her eyes.

"Do you have proof?" she asks.

He fumbles for the key in his pocket and unlocks the drawer it affiliates with, retrieving a tape recorder from inside. "Nothing that can hold him in court or he'd be in jail right now."

"Let me be the judge of that."

Jack then holds up the recorder and plays it. Confusion creases Victoria's features as she listens to a voice of a male she can't identify. She glances at the hand-held device in the bartender's grasp before another male voice is heard and her features soften to recognition. Victoria acknowledges it as Conrad's by meeting Jack's knowing gaze and he switches it off again.

* * *

"The recent revelation of Governor Stoddard's heart condition has sent shock waves throughout the state and with New Yorkers headed to the polls in the matter of days, the news almost ensures a victory for challenger Conrad Grayson." says channel 10, displaying the stats of the election numbers thus far with the embolden letters of 'breaking news' headlined across the bottom of the screen.

Ashley is perched on the armrest of Conrad's chair surrounded by fellow staffers as they all contently watch and listen.

"Incredible," she deduces aloud, partly surprised and partially dire. "Two days from now you'll be governor of New York."

Conrad takes a moment to let the deliberation soak in before he finds his feet and stands, raising a glass of champagne. "I'll drink to that."


	7. One Sees, The Other Doesn't

**Author's Notes: **This was written a very long time ago, probably the oldest piece I've found to date, during the first season when I began brainstorming idea's for what would later become "Three Generations Of David Clarke". So it's set in that universe, but also separate. Just thought I'd share (:

* * *

What had always been nothing but darkness, colors of all shades and strokes appeared before Kara now. They painted so brightly, she had to narrow her sight to a squinted fashion. Everything she could hear matched what she was seeing and beyond, because she was seeing.

For the love of God, she could see!

It was the most beautiful yet frightening feeling she was sure she would ever experience. She couldn't ever bare to blink in fear of losing it. As if closing her lids would take the ability from her. But she batted her lashes and nothing happened. Despite the blurry sensation, she wanted to examine every inch of her life. She wanted to look at every corner, gaze upon every mirror, mentally picture everything in sight. She wanted to capture every second of it and store it away, lest it be too good to be true. She never wanted to forget the feeling and live in this moment for as long as possible.

"Good. You're up." A low, starchy tone spoke just as a woman suddenly entered, posture erect-seemingly floating as she passed making her way toward the window before giving her a brief once-over, heels softly taping against the tile floor. "That oaf of a doctor says whenever you're ready, we can leave this hellhole."

She was slender, fair-skinned, long dark hair, dressed to kill, and an attitude to show for it.

That was Victoria's voice. Kara would know it anywhere, and this was what she looked like.

Once the older woman reached the glass, she peered down her nose at the street below, expression creased with distaste.

The girl sat there in awe of her grandmother, now able to finally place a face to the name. Finally able to see the woman who Kara had grown to love, unconditionally, despite having never laid eyes upon her...until now.

Victoria's attention then transferred to Kara and her brows instantly nit together in concern, as tears were now rolling down her granddaughter's face.

"Kara, sweetheart, what is it?" she questioned, carefully approaching to perch herself on the edge of the hospital bed.

She rubbed the child's cheeks dry with her thumbs while cupping her hands on either side of Kara's cheeks, gaze sweeping across the girl's features as if the reasoning for the tears would be written somewhere.

Able to view Victoria up-close, the child's own hands flew to the older woman's face while her grandmother's dropped in her lap allowing Kara to read her features like she usually did. The Grayson Matriarch supposed she would never get used to being fondled in this way on a daily basis, not fully understanding the fascination behind it. But if it truly benefited her granddaughter like the specialists claimed, and could admit had been proven, she would manage to muster up enough self-control from pushing the little girl away.

She averted her gaze from embarrassment on what to do, all the while wondering what Kara imagined she looked like. She pondered if it were a nice picture or an awful one, for the child could conjure up any image she liked, and Victoria wasn't one to be left out of the loop.

Yet again, however, she sat idly by.

"What is it?" she finally asked again, unable to wait any longer.

Finding those precious brown eyes connected with her own, her head jerked back on her neck. That had never happened before, not since...

Victoria gently grabbed Kara by the wrists and slowly guided them down.

"Kara?" she whispered, inching closer. "Can...can you...see me?"

Her granddaughter nodded.

"Oh, baby." she murmured, pulling the child into an embrace.

Kara silently sobbed into her grandmother's neck, hugging her tightly, her mind unable to fathom the miracle that seemed to bestow upon her during the night. And how grateful she was that Victoria was there to comfort her, as she wouldn't know what to do with herself otherwise.


	8. Like Mother, Like Daughter

**Author's Notes: **This was written during the hiatus between season one and two, when speculations of Emily's mother began while in complete denial that Vic was dead (which thankfully, for the show's ratings sake, proved right).

I honestly can't tell you where this was to go or how it was to end, so I'll just leave it to your imaginations. I'd love to hear your theories, anyway (:

* * *

She glared at the older woman with wide eyes in an expression that could only be described as conflicting. She felt betrayal, hatred, compassion, and remorse all at once.

Her body shook, her hands moist, her mouth agape. Her heart rose in her throat, blocking any words that she wanted to say—had longed to say, perhaps needed to say, too—denied passage.

Victoria simply stood in front of her, as exposed and as naked as she had ever been, for the first time in a long time, daring to make eye contact.

Then a smack sounded, one that could be heard from outside, even over the crashing waves, tossing the brunette's head violently to one side before her stance balanced, catching herself from falling completely. It was as unexpected as Emily herself realized what she'd done. Not that it wasn't undeserving, from either side.

No one had the courage to retort back at Victoria Grayson, much less strike, and the very breaths were stolen from the small crowd just within eyeshot.

Charlotte was attempting to sneak back in the house having spent the night with Declan.

Nolan had arrived with Emily, having had breakfast together, and emerged from the car in wonder what was taking so long.

And Ashley, she was just merely arriving for work.

All of which slowed their individual paths towards Grayson Manor toward the escalated argument.

Emily stood from the other side of the coffee table, the only thing separating them from total combat, as her arch enemy stood before the throne she usually took upon arrivals such as this, however unheralded.

As the older woman slowly returned her former position, revealing faltering eyes, hung heavy from deep sorrow, reluctantly leaking tears staining flushed cheeks, the blonde abruptly swirled around to take an immediate leave, her hand raised to cover her mouth in alarm.

Victoria practically leaped across the room to grab Emily's free arm that swung limp at her side. "I'm not asking you to forgive me, but I can't let you go without at least explaining myself. Why I did what I did—"

"I know why, I know what happened!" the blonde hissed, spinning back to face her, haltering the brunette woman midstride from following.

"What really happened..." Victoria rectified.

Emily's head jerked back on her neck, a tear streaking down and she wiped it away quickly through pursed lips.

"What little you think you know, you've made the worst of."

At that, the blonde swung herself back again to march out, yet once again was stopped.

"As much as I hurt him, and as much as I hurt you," Victoria continued. "I loved him...and I cared for you, too. There are things that you don't know." Her voice cracked, which tugged at Emily's heart no matter how much she resented it, causing her to wince.

She couldn't understand what was happening. How could she have let it get this far. How could have things been done so clumsy and unorganized. And how could, above all else, the one person she hated most, the one person she placed blame for absolutely everything, the woman who she sought revenge been able to see right through her, and from the very beginning.

She felt her knees begin to collapse under her weight as her legs shuttered. Glancing at herself, she realized she was shaking.

Everything was crumbling. All the research, the time, the money that was spent, wasted.

All gone.

All because in the end, she couldn't face the inevitable truth.

It was the end, wasn't it? Her true identity had been revealed, to the one person who should've been the last to know. The only move left on the table was to run. Runaway from her past. Runaway from her future. She would surely end up like her father, life in prison for the rest of her natural life. But her body refused. She was locked still in what seemed like a spinning room.

As much as she didn't want to believe or admit to herself, she knew in the back of her mind that there was truth in what Victoria was saying. She couldn't fully support her father, no matter how much she truly loves him, no matter what had been done in his name, ever since it was recovered that Charlotte was her sister—half sister, but blood nonetheless. Information that was deliberately kept from her, by the one person she ever truly trusted.

It was over.

In the next moment, both women were on the floor. The blonde letting go of all the pain she'd kept fastened inside for so long, released in thrashing sobs, her arms clung tight around the brunette, who was holding onto the girl just as desperate. Her head gently pressed against the older woman's which was buried in her arms, Victoria rubbed her back, as soothing as any mother would be.

"I'm so sorry, Amanda," she whispered.

And there, they stayed, beside the ruins of all the hateful and spiteful words that were said, actions that were deeded, scattered on the ground in broken shards.

From her view on the patio through the opened doors, Ashley was unsure of wither to make herself known or to quietly back away.

Just a few feet behind _her_, Charlotte stood frozen.

And Nolan, having watched the whole thing from the front door, decided to make his way back to the car.

* * *

The next morning, Emily woke in a bed.

Blinking her eyes open and glancing at her surroundings, she realized she wasn't at her beach house but still at Grayson Manor, meaning it wasn't a bad dream. It had all happened.

She'd cried in Victoria's arms, and was placed here...in one of the guest rooms, she supposed?

instantly threw back the covers and rose from the bed to leave. But just as she was about to swing open the door, the faint timber of footsteps approached—heels clicking against hardwood—and she knew it was Victoria.

Adrenaline kicked in and retreated Emily back under the sheets, pretending to be asleep.

Eyes closed, she heard the door creak upon and slowly shut. Footsteps then tapped from there to the other side of the room and stopped again. Peeking, she realized she wasn't in a guest room, she was in the master's suite.

In Victoria's bed.

All this made her itch, but thought best to remain still and not move a muscle until an opportunity presented itself for an escape.

"I know you're awake. There's no need to pretend anymore. I'm sure you must be tired of that by now, Amanda." she said nonchalantly before taking a breath. "I know I am."

Emily's eyes shot open and she immediately sat up, leaning back against the headboard.

"Don't call me that," she growled.

Victoria's hands dropped from primping and connected eyes with the blonde through the reflection of a mirror which hung on the direct opposite wall. "You may leave if you want. I can't make you stay, but I wish you would."

Emily's head jerked back on her neck, narrowing her eyes. "Why, the hell, would I stay? I can't even believe I spent the night. You are the most vile..." Her words faded as her gaze hardened.

Victoria couldn't take it and tore her eyes away by glancing down at her folded hands. "I knew your mother. I know what she did to you, or tried to do. I know I've done terrible things in my life, but I could _never_ attempt such a venture. You call me vile but we are one and the same, and you don't even know it."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," The elder woman went on, breathing out. "We are more alike than either of us care to admit...and, wither you like it or not, we also share the same interests. So if you'd allow me to explain, and listen, you might learn something."


	9. Little Reminders

**Author's Notes**: Missing scene of "Intuition" (S02E04).

* * *

The nurse turns abruptly and gestures the infant forwards in order for her to take. The brunette's eyes immediately bug wide and shakes her head.

"Oh no. No, I'm not—" she starts. But the nurse is insistent, already transferring the child into her arms.

"You'll be fine," reassures the younger woman, stressing the words out in a nonchalant manner and flashing the warmest smile ever graced in her direction. "First time grandmother's are always little insecure."

She wants to refute, eyes narrowing, head rising to guffaw, to rebuke. Then the baby squirms and she's naturally adjusting in place, her maternal instinct kicking in before she's ready, until the tiny being in blue is held perfectly cradled against her chest, head laid carefully in the crook of her elbow, and there, in little to no time at all, he settles.

"My daughter..." she starts again, yet the words just will not come.

"His name is Carl," says the nurse, folding her arms in satisfaction with herself, craning her neck to peer down at the bundle. As if, this had been her calling all along and was now basking in the reward. Oblivious to the apprehension that must undoubtedly be coming in waves. "Carl David Porter."

The older woman shoots her a look, yet can't help but be deterred and gaze down at the boy with a new found admiration.

"_David_..." she whispers and the child opens its eyes, staring back up at her. He seems content, which only adds to the pressure and prickling sensation that's playing behind her own eyes.

* * *

"Victoria?"

She's snapped back into reality, time for however long she'd been engrossed inside her head lost to her, only to find the bartender warily making his way over. _He _appears hesitate, on guard, scanning her with confusion, perhaps for malevolent intent. She sways from side to side, suddenly caught in a moment of fight or flight, the urge gradually becoming unbearable.

"I'm sorry, I..." Realizing the nurse who'd put her in this position now nowhere to be found and in a rush to amend, to take it back, to give it—custody of Amanda Clarke's son—back, Victoria surges a step closer to Jack.

There's a prominent flinch that ripples throughout his body and it gives her pause, the air around them thickening with...what, she isn't certain. The mere thought of him or anyone in fear of her while holding their child springs forth an immense feeling of disgust that aches from the very pit of her stomach.

"I didn't...she just gave him to me, I..." she stammers. Her vision blurs and the sight of him morphs, forcing her to blink and to her humiliation, tears leak down her face.

She hadn't meant to blurt out David's secret about what Kara had done to his adolescent daughter. She hadn't meant to yell or snatch nor for her to fall. She hadn't meant to be cornered like this, she hadn't meant for any of it to happen. She didn't.

Jack is reaching forward, slowly extracting the newborn out of her grasp because apparently she's shaking and he's casting her an expression of complete and utter wonder, of which she cannot stand and it's too much and she can't.

As soon as the infant is safely in the confines of his protective embrace, she flees down the hall, disappearing round a bend, the resounding ding of the elevator doors closing follows shortly after.


	10. Tryst

**Author's Notes: **Yet another result of the Engagement episode (S02E20) and my feels. However this time it was vemily at fault, and with no Revenge to assuage them ):

Some facts were altered for storyline reasons. So in other words, I forgot some stuff and that's what I'm going with...shh, just enjoy it.

* * *

Rays of warmth filtered through the window panes and splayed across her bare back. Her eyes fluttered open, safely shaded by curtains that were pulled to the side. The room was peacefully quiet and enveloped in the morning sun that called all from their slumber to the new day. She rolled her eyes closed once more and hummed pleasantly, wanting to soak in the last remnants of comfort her body was unwilling to rid of just yet. The soft tumble of the ocean's waves could be heard in the distance but the sea salt only added to the air's soothing caress. She blinked as her mind forbade her from returning to sleep and her right arm, which laid palm down, draped across the empty space next to her.

It was in that moment that she realized she was by herself. She shifted, rising her head from the plush pillow and found a naked leg bent at the knee and exposed from a thin sheet—the only covering in which remained against the rest of her body. It was confusion that followed and she immediately sat up, pulling both legs to her and crossing them, all the while clutching the cotton linen to her chest.

It wasn't that she was alone that startled her. It was the unnerving sense she felt that she shouldn't be. That, and based on the fact that she had slept with no clothes. It meant she had shared the night with someone else. She had shared her bed with another person, in a uncomfortable variation of undress, and what was worse, she didn't have a clue as to whom it had been.

Events of the night before were still soaked in alcohol and kept her mind's eye from deciphering behind its beer goggle.

Of course, that was merely a metaphor. She would have never consumed beer.

The last thing she could recall was being offered a flute of white wine by—oh christ...had she slept with Conrad?

There was a sudden urge to peal off her own skin, and began to scratch at herself. No; she couldn't have been that drunk to have fallen into bed with _him_. He was her ex-husband, yes. But...she cringed and shook her head.

She sought out what else she could remember. That's right; they had been invited to Daniel's birthday party. Her, Conrad and Charlotte, among many others, such as Amanda and the Porters. Emily had taken it upon herself to host the affair and held it at her beachfront property—_his_ house.

David's house.

That was what was so familiar about this room. She wasn't in her bedroom, in her own bed. She was still in _his_ house, in what was David's bedroom...that's now Daniel's room...with Emily. Meaning, she was in Emily's...

"Oh my—" She cut herself off by taping a hand over her mouth. Her heart began to pound against her ribcage and caused her to hyperventilate.

Had she seriously had sex on the same mattress that her son was probably...jesus, she needed to get out of here. She needed to find her clothes and quickly dress before anyone found her. She didn't need to know what all went on last night, and she certainly didn't want to know with whom. Even if she inadvertently crosses paths with him in the future, she won't know. And if her whereabouts are questioned, she'll simply deny any accusations of—and as her focus roamed around the suite, taking in the nautical décor and fixtures—_this_.

The sound of a squeaky faucet being turned quieted the depths behind an adjoining door and her head snapped towards it. She hadn't known the shower was running. The same hand that covered her mouth then smacked her forehead as she inwardly cursed herself to have unknowingly let a perfect getaway pass her by.

He was still here. He had taken a shower, above all things, and was still here. It must be Conrad, then. Only he would overlook the fragility of a situation and do something so self-serving. Nevertheless, there was a relief that washed over and her breathing became to calm. She supposed because it was him—someone she had slept with before, Daniel's father for goodness sake—and not just anyone else she didn't even want to guess. So for the most part, her dignity had stayed in tact.

The sheet secured under her arms, she combed out her long dark hair with her nails and twisted it over a shoulder before leaning back against the headboard. A glimpse at the digital clock on the nightstand displayed its time too early to be missed and she let out a deep sigh. Good; at least she and Conrad could sneak out undetected. She figured she might as well wait for him as she crossed her arms.

The sound of springs compressing within the door knob called for her attention. Her brow creased when the door was then pulled open just far enough for slender fingers to slip through and grasp the edge. She noted that they didn't appear belonging to a man.

"Victoria?" spoke a soft voice.

That was definitely not his larynx.

Her eyes narrowed with anxiety and her hand slowly retreated to her lips again in dread of what was to be unveiled.

Should she answer? What was she to say? Even if she wanted to, she couldn't.

She physically could not bring herself to speak.

The woman called again, a little more confident than before.

The door widened further and Victoria held her breath.

Suddenly a tall slender woman crept into view wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her, blonde hair sleeked back across her scalp.

"Emily?" Victoria's hand slipped from her face in disbelief. "What in hell are you doing here?"

It wasn't until the words had left her mouth that she realized how foolish it sounded.

Emily's eyes gave the room a quick sweep and shrugged awkwardly. "It's my room."

"...right," Victoria exhaled, glancing at her surroundings once more before connecting back with those eyes that always exhibited such audaciousness, until now. Now, they seemed full of...uncertainty. "Then...what am _I _doing here?"

The blonde didn't make a move to speak, nor did she blink. To be perfectly honest, Emily appeared to be in a perfect state of shock—like a deer in headlights. "You don't remember?"

It wasn't so much a question but a statement, to no one in particular.

Victoria began to get agitated. "Remember _what_, exactly?"

"Victoria, we..." she cleared her throat, "We...slept together last night."


	11. The Beginning Of The End

**Author's Notes: **This was to be my version of season two, then said season started.

* * *

She glanced down at her watch, the one her father had always worn. It dangled slightly on her wrist as she tried to be as subtle as possible without seeming like she had a better place to be.

She did, but this wasn't the place to let it be known.

She needed to be here, though, to say goodbye.

Hundreds of people came to pay their respects; some relatives, others friends or acquaintances, anywhere between cooperate titans and senators to inspirational icons and many more from varies dynasties of all shapes and sizes. You name it, Emily and Nolan were among them, all attired in some form of black, standing on the beach while a priest stood before them, his slacks rolled to the knees and feet immersed in the freezing water, cradling the urn.

The weather didn't permit such an occasion to go smoothly. The wind blew fiercely as the ocean responded with crashing waves and spraying the crowd of its salt. Jacket collars flapped as hair fluttered in faces, hemlines fighting to stay down. The sky shown of dark clouds rolling in, threatening rain and foretold of a later day than it was. But to Emily, anything different wouldn't have been appropriate for mourning.

Hardest to grieve were the sun shining brightly, smiling down on an otherwise elated occasion.

Nolan entangled his arm through hers, pulling her closer beside him, then stuffing the hand back in his coat pocket. Normally she would retreat from such an intimate hold like this, throwing in a remark for good measure. If it weren't so cold, she silently mused. He'd probably say it was because he feared for her blowing away if questioned, or some half-ass reply like that, and she supposed it might be the only thing holding her upright. So she allowed it, keeping her attention forwards and not giving it another thought.

It almost surprised him that she didn't. Emily usually rejected him when he stepped out of bounds into her personal space. Though they have grown considerably close this past year, partners in crime as it were, acknowledging their friendship with trust, something she did not give easily, it were times like this when she let down the drawbridge leading inside her defensive walls, what he'd seen there had in the past terrified him, only now supplies him with an ever-growing sense of protectiveness. These same moments when she consented his consolation, tugged a smile at the corner of his lips.

That warmth was soon chased away by the thought of why. Because the woman never did anything without good reason, coordinating it into the web of her revenge somehow—realizing, no. She was actually remorseful. A word that he assumed didn't exist in the blonde's vocabulary. But he liked to think he knew her, and this was real.

Daniel connected eyes with her from the opposite side of the crowd, which had formed a large U, wrapping themselves around the man of the cloth, as he scanned them while pulling a brunette further to his side. She clung to him, his arm draped around her, her head hung heavy to her chest, her shoulders bobbing with sobs, her long hair fallen shade over her hands that pressed against her face. His chin seemed to find some strength as it rose skyward, his hard gaze skeptical of Emily's intentions.

Nolan caught sight and purposely sought out his attention, snarling back at him. Such a childish action, and yet took pride in it when the younger man withdrew from their quite battle of wills.

"At this time, I'd like to ask for you all to bow your heads in prayer with me." announced the priest and every soul did as they were told.

He began to speak again but his words faded as a figure from Emily's peripheral leaned slightly into to her.

"I can't say I'm surprised to see you here." a groveled voice whispered.

Her eyes slowly rolled opened in annoyance, peering over the rim of her sunglasses. Nolan kept his head down as if he weren't eavesdropping. The tensing muscles in his arm, however, told her that he was.

True, the blonde loathed the woman. She was a Grayson. Tragedy was never far from that family long before Emily Thorne came along, which explained the lack of complete affect upon the sudden death from those who associated with them, business or otherwise.

The actual Amanda Clarke despised them, all of them, and even her, too—the one in the vase, at first. Then she had gotten to know her, learning things outside the infinity box. Things, Takeda hadn't prepared her for.

Engaging to Daniel only allowed her free rein into their home, bare witnessing and partly responsible for her downfall. But developing a kin to her was something else completely. Her death wasn't planned and could've been prevented. And that is what troubled Emily so. Regret.

She slid her eyes to the side to take in the smirking man, wanting nothing more than to rid it of him, but she was stronger than that. That would've been what he wanted, standing there patiently waiting for something more to hold against her. If nothing else but to prove of the evil that she presumably carried inside. He had no idea of the fury she could thrust upon him. And to his dismay, she could control it just as he was failing to keep his distance. The firm caution in her heated glare missed on him, instead he felt the need to speak.

"Someone should have warned you not to _feed_ or _tease_ the animals." he proceeded before craning his neck and facing her head on, his breath escaping wispily from his nostrils like a bull. "If they had," His eyes pointedly gestured the urn only to return again a beat later. "She might not have gotten eaten. From what I've heard though...she was pretty tasty."

Emily stared him down until a unison _Amen_ broke her trance and the man descended back from whence he came, bleeding into the background.

Nolan then nudged her greedily with his elbow.

"This wasn't your fault." he lowered his voice, so only she could hear. "He can't possibly think you had anything to do with this.

I mean, you're capable of it, but he doesn't know that." he confirmed aloud, as if she needed his input. But he had bestowed himself her conscience and, therefore, doubt. "Does he?"

Adjusting her frames atop the ridge of her nose, she breathed in and slowly breathed out, considering before answering.

"I've been having a staring contest with the Devil. And the Devil just blinked."

* * *

One month earlier...

The sun took its time dawning that morning, Conrad thought, sitting up in the chair aside the hospital bed. Not that he would've gotten any more sleep in his own, albeit his back cursing what his mind couldn't think of, his face twisting to the pain.

For as many people, who owned houses far larger than the building itself, had passed in and out of this place, and for as much as it charged, one would think it could afford more comfortable seating.

It doesn't matter. His daughter—Clarke's daughter, biologically—laid limp under the thin sheets. He had hoped the night of rest would bring color back into her skin, but it hadn't. She still appeared just as pale as he found her, and couldn't shake the memory out of his head.

"_Charlotte?" he whispered as he caught sight of her laying across her bed, arm dangling over the side._

_Pushing open the door from the hall and taking a step further inside, he saw the pills next; small white pebble-like tablets scattered on the floor directly below her hand where he assumed they had fallen from._

"_Charlotte." he called again, more assertive this time, just in case she were in fact sleeping._

_She didn't wake, didn't even stir. He immediately slammed his glass of liquor on her nightstand before placing his hands on her shoulders and shaking her. When she still didn't respond, thoughts of the worst ran through his mind as he wrapped her up in his arms._

"_Oh my god, Charlotte!" he yelled, "Charlotte!"_

_When they finally arrived in the emergency room, after what seemed like too long, the nurses that escorted the gurney towards the forbidden swaying double doors only turned to hold up a hand._

"_I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to wait out here. A doctor will be with you shortly." one assured, ignoring his heated glare._

"_That's my daughter!" he proclaimed, throwing his fist in the air before cupping his mouth in distress._

_She simply nodded and gestured for the empty chairs in the waiting room. "I'm sorry, those are the rules."_

He had stripped himself of his sport coat and tie hours ago, attired in the same suit as the day before. He tried to contact Daniel long before that; several attempts but with no avail, each call forwarded to voicemail. Normally that would concern him, but today wasn't a regular day.

Conrad leaned forward and softly grasped the hand of the patient. Was she going to be okay? That was still uncertain as of yet. She was being held for a 24-hour observation after the pumping of her stomach. Only then would the doctors know for sure her condition and he finally be suggested of what to do.

Other than wait.

He was truly scared, and it took a lot to frighten him these days. He'd seen just about everything. Despite the fact that she wasn't really his, he did raise her, care for her, support her in any and every way in could. And love was without question.

Of course he loved her. He had fallen in love with her the day she was born, the moment she had been put in his arms, holding her for the first time. And even if the woman who had given him this precious gift had mislead him to believe what he now knew to be false, it couldn't take away the memories he had of when she was younger and watching her grow.

She might have David's features but she had _his_ mind, _his_ demeanor, and most importantly, she had _him_. And if that wasn't enough to wash away his dissatisfaction, his insecurities, her birth certificate stated so.

Pulling out his phone, he decided to try his son once more.

* * *

Vibration against wood buzzed loudly in his ear. It pulsed a couple times before a hand slapped him on the back.

"Shut it off." she wined, British accent stumbling over syllables, turning herself away and pulling the duvet with her.

He groaned, lifting his head from under a pillow, his hair disheveled as it slid from his scalp, yawning widely while he fished for his cellular device from the bedside table. He then sat up, rubbing the sleep from his the eyes he could barely keep open, squinted at the screen, and accepting the call.

"Hello," he mumbled, which wasn't much of a greeting.

A few moments passed before his eyes widened, his brows crossing in concern.

"Dad? What's—" he began, only for his voice to fade.

The woman flipped back over and inquired him with a sleepy-eyed look. Silence fell over the room again as his body immediately sprung awake. Trying to keep herself covered, she leaned up on her elbows, and watched him practically jump off the mattress and begin tugging on his clothes with his free hand.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."


End file.
